Monthly Archives: October 2012

I’d love to report that my boat has survived Hurricane Sandy unscathed. But as of this posting, I still don’t know. This massive storm was one for the history books, and the toll it took on the east coast is still being tallied, and around here, we’re still digging our way out of the damage it left behind. The winds that hit my area go beyond anything the region has ever weathered, and coupled with a record storm surge, much of the surrounding infrastructure sustained massive damage. Many of the marinas in my home waters have been devastated, and very few boats, either in the water or on land, came through unharmed. I’m hoping that due to her position at the highest point in the yard, protected by an old but reasonably solid shed, Annabel Lee is one of the fortunate survivors. But at this time, that remains to be seen.

As I type this, there’s a tree in my kitchen. And my spare bedroom/office. And I don’t mean a bonsai. No, I’m talking about a 100+ foot oak, formerly tall and majestic, but now uprooted and lying diagonal, balanced precariously between my yard and rooftop. It came down just as Sandy made landfall to the south and winds shifted from merely unnerving to downright terrifying. It came down with an impact that shook the house, knocking books and cups from shelves and turning pictures on the walls sideways. Several larger limbs tore instant skylights through the ceiling, sending sheetrock and shingles, leaves and splinters flying across my kitchen floor.

Fortunately, no one, human, canine or feline, was hurt, though we were all severely rattled, and we hastily rounded everyone into the relative safety of the basement. I’m grateful that whoever originally built this house seemed to construct it of doubled beams and excessively thick lumber. We’d often joked about the house’s inexplicable, almost ‘bomb-shelter’ like qualities, but as we rode out the remainder of the night, we truly came to appreciate it.

After a long and sleepless night, dawn allowed us to inspect the full extent of the damage. The weight of the tree still balanced upon the peak of the roof, with shattered limbs ripping into the roof through various points. Half our chimney was gone, beams and vents crushed. Upsetting as it was, compared to the reports coming in over the news radio, filled with horrifying and heartbreaking stories of damage and death, we considered ourselves reasonably lucky. The house can be repaired, and the only casualties we’d encountered included a vintage kit-kat clock, an old piggy-bank that crashed down from a shelf, and ironically, a weather glass that had all night been vividly displaying the dropping air pressure.

Bands of rain continued to arrive, as they had all night, and in the daylight we went onto the roof to cut away the outer limbs so we could nail a tarp down over the roof and finally dry up inside. Cars and people slowed as they passed, and neighbors came to offer any assistance they could. Thursday morning we’re scheduled for a tree service with a crane to lift the massive oak from the roof – by the way it is balanced cutting it free would cause more damage, and once that is done and the roof patched, we’ll finally be able to turn our attention to checking the boat. I can only hope Sandy has left me no other unpleasant surprises.

Like this:

I did all my proper preparations, to the best of my ability. I’ve done all I could to make sure the boat would ride out the storm, and being that she’s in a (hopefully) sturdy shed at the highest point in the yard, I’m hoping she’ll be alright. I can only wonder how the river is handling the surge and flood waters flowing down. And I did all I could to prep the house. But there is only so much that can be done. The news coming in over A.M. radio is troubling and the roar of the storm outside is truly terrifying. They just remarked that this is a night people will remember for years to come and I’m inclined to agree.

It’s 10:30 at night, and we still have power, for the moment at least, which seems ironic considering I have a tree through the middle of my house. Yes, one of those lovely massive oaks came down, there’s a trunk in my kitchen, and rain is pouring in. The ceiling fan dangles sideways from what ceiling remains, and the floor is covered with a sodden mix of plaster, insulation, rafters, sheathing, shingles, broken cabinet contents, leaves and branches. Paintings were knocked from the wall, (consider the force it took to accomplish that,) there are cracks in the hallway ceiling, down the walls, except for my office, where a good portion of the wall is simply gone, along with the roof over my desk, and, I fear, much of my outlines, notes, and non-digital documents. Thankfully my laptop wasn’t on the desk at the time, or it would currently be buried, and likely destroyed. I’m just grateful no one was hurt, and all people and animals are safely bunkered down in the basement, and come daylight we’ll see just how bad the damage is. The police advised us to leave, but there’s nowhere to go. Every road is blocked, powerlines are dropping, trees crashing down, and after seeing what one can do to a house, I’m not so confident that venturing out in a VW is prudent. The basement seems the safest place, and that’s where we’re staying until this passes. But the lights are flickering, so I suspect I should sign off. I hope all of you out there are well and morning comes to find all well. Or as well as can be hoped for.

Like this:

“A mystery in the John D. MacDonald tradition – both in its largely watery setting and tone, the novel also brings to mind Dashiell Hammett in the complexity of its plot, and even Stieg Larsson in its use of a strong young woman with an attitude as a main character. Last Exit In New Jersey is well-paced, densely-plotted story that mystery-thriller fans will enjoy immensely.”
~ Alex Austin, author of The Red Album of Asbury Park Remixed

Hazel Moran, the tough truck-driving amateur sleuth introduced in Last Exit in New Jersey, returns in this dark and twisting sequel.